


It’s A Sin

by teacupofhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Freeform, M/M, Pre-Stanford, Slow Burn, Wincest - Freeform, most everything is pretty much accurate to the show, no established time period, some au-ish elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 23:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupofhoney/pseuds/teacupofhoney
Summary: Another slow burn love story between two co-dependent brothers. Years and years of trauma and beating around the bush with stolen glances, drunken truths, and avoided confrontation. These boys have issues, and in the long run, their feelings for each other sure as hell aren't one of them.





	It’s A Sin

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my four beta-readers and close friends: Annie, Josh, Lee, and Mikey. They read the chapter before I posted and, thankfully, they enjoyed it. I love them so much and they all deserve the fucking world, honestly. My whole ass heart goes out to them.

Slow was anything but familiar to Dean. He rushed into things as a teenager, found his way into bars, relationships, girl’s skirts in record time.

Slow was anything but foreign to Sam. His brother left him dizzy, world slow around him. He experienced what it was like to be drunk in love at just nine years old, not really knowing what it meant. Yet. Big brother Dean always took care of him, put Sam first always. _Take care of Sam. Keep Sam safe._ It was etched into his mind, body, and soul.

As Sam grew, so did his realization that nobody else looked at their big brother like he did. They didn’t look up into his eyes like he snatched the stars from the sky and took them as his own, adorning his body with beautiful light brown freckles that seemed to even glow in the summer. They didn’t look at him like he could take apart the world atom by atom and fix it to his liking and they would still love and cherish every second.

This went on for years, until Sam was sixteen years old. He grew fast, and so did the thoughts that made him want to take steel wire to his brain and scrub it clean of the mental abuse he was inflicting on himself.

 _Dean looks good covered in car oil and grease._ Sam wanted Dean to share that grease.

 _Dean looks good wearing nothing but his jeans, low on his hips on a hot summer afternoon as he obscenely ( and obliviously ) slurps and licks around a cherry popsicle._ Sam wondered what else Dean sucked his pretty lips around.

 _Dean looks good with red stained lips._ Sam wanted to lick that cherry flavor right out of his big brother’s mouth.

 _Dean looks real good._ And Sam hated himself for thinking so.

Sam fought with himself forever, avoiding Dean as much as he could for the next few years. If fighting with yourself and avoiding is also considered running to the bathroom every time you got hard and jerking off for who-knows-how-long in a hotel shower in bumfuck nowhere. If.

He always assumed Dean would hate him. Dean would disown little Sammy if he _**ever**_ found out. He didn’t know how wrong he was. Dean was just like him, if not worse for being the older brother, the one who was supposed to be mature and responsible, not listening to Sam through the walls as he he heard him bite down into the flesh of his bony hand as he came against the shower wall, all while palming himself and refusing to make eye contact for the rest of the night when that was all he needed to come in his jeans. Pathetic.

This pattern of hidden away and shameful moments alone, both of them oblivious to the other. It ended two years later when an official envelope was forwarded by Bobby to the shack they were in. Sam wasn’t home. Dean opened it first, confused and infuriated immediately.

“Congratulations, Sam Winchester. You have been accepted into the Fall Semester at Stanford University..?” Dean muttered out loud, taking a seat. _Sam’s leaving?_

-

Sam sat at the library, anxiety making his bones and chest ache, knees bouncing as he tried to focus on the lore in front of him. He was tired, oh so fucking tired. He couldn’t handle it anymore. The life, the killing, the feelings, Dean. The thought of being tired of Dean made him sick. It wasn’t true, it would never be true; Sam convinced himself, told himself every day Dean was holding him back without knowing, that he needed to get out before it was too late and he was too far gone.

He was already too far gone. He’d been too far gone for far too long and it made his teeth hurt how disgusting he was, lusting after and being in love with the one person it was forbidden with. Way back when, he’d like to pretend in his head at night, when nobody except God and himself could persecute his slop bucket of a brain, that Dean was his Romeo, and himself as a makeshift Juliet in replacement for all the warm holes Dean fucked into to fill some need along the way.

Sam needed out. He needed out and away from this goddamn burn rotting a hole in his chest before it ruined him forever and fucked him up so bad that nobody else could ever stand in comparison. To his older brother.

So he got out. He applied to Stanford and studied as much as he could when not doing research for Dad and Dean.

He got out.

-

When Sam got back from the library, an hour long walk because he didn’t want to bother Dean, he came in and put his things down. He listened to the almost silent shack and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Dean?” It was called out, a little broken and confused. The Impala was in the driveway, the truck was gone. Stomped footsteps came from Dean and Sam’s temporary room, the room they had to share a bed, the room Sam had to do everything in his power to not roll over and sully their sibling-ship. Sully their already fucked up beyond repair lives.

Sam snapped out of it, flinched when Dean got close, fisting the paper and holding it up.

“What the fuck is this, Sam?” It came out as a growl, but shaky, vulnerable. Sam went cold, staring at the paper with the Stanford insignia in the top corner. He tried to snatch it away, hide his shame.

“You- Give that to me.” Sam said, chest tightening.

“Like fucking hell I will. Give it to you so you can hide it? When were you gonna tell me? Huh? Tell me you’re leaving-“ Dean said, cutting himself off. _**Leaving me.**_

Sam tensed his jaw and looked away, steeling himself. He refused to make eye contact, knew he’d give in, ignore the acceptance letter, even burn it and stay forever if Dean asked him, but only in that moment of weakness.

“You were just going to leave, weren’t you? You think you would have even left a letter or would me and Dad have to tear ass across the country trying to find out what happened to you?” Dean accused, pushing Sam by the shoulders. His hands burned into Sam, shaky and too hot, radiating anger and betrayal just like the rest of Dean’s body.

“Dean-“ Sam started, only to be cut off.

“Fuck off. Couldn’t get rid of me quicker, could you? You’re so fucking selfish, only thinking about your-fucking-self, Sam. Gonna leave me here with Dad? For what? College pussy and a degree that’s not worth shit with the skills you have?” Dean growled, pushing him again, harder this time so he was back-against-the-wall.

Sam’s face went red. _I’m leaving in your best interest, not mine. Leaving you here with someone who isn’t sick and disgusting._

“You- You don’t even fucking know me, do you, De- You- I was going to tell you, I swear. I want out of this life, I could save people a different way.” Sam said, almost pleading with him. “And it’s not like you don’t jump at any opportunity for some warm cunt any place we stop at, so why does that fucking matter to you?” He grit.

Dean flushed and stared at him. “I don’t choose them over family. Over saving lives. Over doing my job, you immature brat.”

Sam snorted. A dirty voice in the back of his head was well aware that Dean did, in fact, choose girls over family, but not how Dean meant.

“If you want out so bad, go. Don’t have to wait around another month and be stuck with me if I make you so miserable, Sammy. Go on, leave. Bet they already got your dorm room nice and warm for you.” Dean said, throwing the papers at him. Sam flinched and looked down, picking the papers up silently.

He panted shakily under his breath, eyes welled up and hidden from Dean’s prying eyes.

“F-Fine. Fine. I’m gone. You gonna let me pack, or you gonna kick me out on my ass and keep calling me names?” Sam sniped, pushing past him to their room and getting a half packed duffle. Dean followed and watched him, keeping that wall up.

“Sammy.” Dean said softly. He looked up at him through his hair, glad the room was dark enough that Dean couldn’t see his tears, his actual proof of shame, his need for him.

“Y-Yeah?” He asked, putting the packed back on the bed and flinching at the creaky groan of the springs.

“Don’t go..” Dean mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

Sam almost gave in, wringing his hands. “If I wait until the month is over, Dad will find out. I can’t stay- I can’t-“ _I can’t be near you._

“I’ll- I won’t tell him. You don’t have to go, just- Stay. Don’t go to college, they don’t need you.” _They don’t need you like I need you._ “They can do without another statistic, stay here and hunt, do research.” Dean gulped, breathed raggedly and giving hopeful eyes.

Sam shook his head and looked down. “You wouldn’t understand, De- I-I gotta go, gotta leave this.” He mumbled, trying to push past him.

Dean grabbed his shoulders and looked at him. “Sammy, _please_ , I know- I know I’m not the smartest, I’m not the best brother I can be, but you don’t have to go to prove it. Just- Just stay..” He begged, those eyes sparkling and shiny with tears sprung to the surface.

He earned a look of genuine dismay, a surge forward and a chaste kiss that was not thought through, if not to automatically disprove Dean and silently tell him the real reason he was leaving.

Sam was shoved back, Dean standing frozen and mortified, stammering. The younger brother soon realized what he’d done, what he’d been avoiding for so long. The look on Dean’s face was enough, enough to give him the opportunity to eventually move on. He pushed past him again, hurrying to the door, stopped before he could even touch the doorknob.

“If you walk out that door, don’t you dare come back, Sam.” Dean said, voice shaky with the threat, a last input in hopes it would scare Sam into staying, give him time to talk to him, talk it out.

Sam sobbed softly and wiped his face off, not caring now. It was done. He was gone, out the door and running down the road, ignoring the yells chasing after him, not stopping until he reached the bus station with burning lungs and cheeks, eyes stinging from the chilly night and tears.

He was on the next bus to California, and he would keep secret for the next four years that he looked back every night for big brother Dean.

Everything got slower for Dean that night.  
Everything was a blur from then on for Sam.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment or kudos if you'd like to see the next chapter. Will be posted either way, but *shrugs*.


End file.
